Life under occupation with my husband’s parents. We came to our parents’ place in the region with the hope that it would be safer there than in our city (the regional center). From the very first day, the supply of food and household chemicals disappeared in my parents’ city. We managed to make a small supply but were not prepared for further developments. Very soon we lost power, then communication, and then water. There was no gas in the house even before that. In fact, we were left without communications and had to switch to rainwater. In mid-March, the city began to be bombed by airplanes. One of the bombs fell on a house on the neighboring street. That night, listening to the sounds of planes and explosions, I cried and shouted that I didn’t want to die. And then I was shaking with adrenaline for a long time. A couple of days later, an army of looters and murderers (Russians) entered the city. All my life under occupation consisted of how to live another day without going crazy. Searching for water, working in the garden and around the house, reading books while the sun was shining, going to the field to catch a connection and call family. Then searches started on our street. We hid cash and valuables because we didn’t know what to expect. I also tried to negotiate with my husband that if the occupiers wanted to take me with them (everyone understands for what purpose), he would not resist. It seemed to me that I could survive it, but my parents and husband could be killed for resisting. Fortunately, it did not come to that.

The biggest problem was the quarrels between my husband and his mother. They were very annoyed with each other and could not restrain themselves anymore. At the moments of their quarrels, I just ran away to avoid hearing it. Everyone was on edge and could no longer contain their emotions.

On April 1, we were lucky to leave. I don’t know what power helped us, but it was a lucky break. There was no one at the checkpoints, the weather was good, the road was clear, the cars were not under fire, and we quickly slipped through.
In my hometown, I cried in the ATB at the sight of a refrigerator with meat.

Olena, Mykolaiv